


Mountain Town: A Series of Drabbles

by RibaBian



Category: South Park
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4432658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RibaBian/pseuds/RibaBian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles depicting the theoretical lives and romantic entanglements of our favorite Coloradans. </p><p>(Ratings and tags will change as drabbles are posted. Chapters are not connected to one another unless otherwise specified. Warnings listed at beginning of individual chapters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pizza Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I decided to write some drabbles during my downtime at work, to get some practice in. It's been a while since I've written much of anything, so I decided to go with the series that's been a staple in my life for the past ten years, and continues to be my favorite show. 
> 
> With that said, there are no major warnings for this chapter aside from some crude language and mentions of sexual activity.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Craig liked boring. Boring was good. Boring was safe. If he could, he’d eat boring for breakfast, lunch and dinner — with seconds, please. Sadly, while South Park was a lot of things, boring was not one of them.

 

Last week, Eric Cartman had tried to lead a revolution against the superintendent, and ended up exploding exactly twelve lockers including Craig’s. Just on the way to lunch he’d accidentally walked in on Kenny McCormick banging their English teacher, who was, like, forty. Ew.

 

Thank God for Friday, aka Pizza Day in the cafeteria. It was still bland, but significantly less disgusting than Wednesday which was Meatloaf Day. Craig hated Wednesdays.

 

Just as Craig sat down with his tray in a desolate corner table (in no mood to deal with _other people_ today), someone plopped down next to him, half on the bench and half on his thigh, picking up his slice and eating half of it in one bite.

 

“Hey, man.” Clyde greeted around a mouthful of _Craig’s pizza_.

 

Craig pinched him in the side, _hard_ , and twisted.

 

“Owow! It was just a bite, quit it!” Clyde whined.

 

Craig relented, regretfully. “Don’t eat other people’s food, tubby.”

 

“Tubby?” Clyde pouted. He was especially sensitive about his muffintop, though Craig didn’t really have an issue with it. Maybe he even liked it, just a little bit, possibly. “I’m supposed to be your b-boyfriend you know. You should be nicer to me.”

 

“Then don’t do stupid things to make me angry with you.”

 

“You should appreciate me more. I’m on the football team, and I’m totally hot.” Clyde retorted, looking smug and on the verge of tears all at once — a classic Clyde look. “I’m pretty much drowning in pussy.”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

He huffed. “Red offered to suck my dick the other day. Maybe I’ll let her. She’d probably let me do ‘er too.”

 

He was just trying to get Craig to react. Of course if he did, Clyde would just spend the rest of the week being smug and unbearable.

 

“Oh please.” Craig rolled his eyes. “Red has offered to suck _my_ dick, and she’s my fucking cousin. Go ahead and let her; don’t come crying to me when you get herpes.”

 

Clyde buried his head on Craig’s shoulder, sniffling. “Everyone thinks you’re an asshole, you know. Nobody likes you.”

 

Craig resisted the urge to flip him off, just barely.

 

Clyde sniffed a few more times before he realized Craig wasn’t going to give into him and gave up. “My dad and Sharon are going to Denver for the weekend.” It was still super weird after three years knowing that Stan’s mom and Clyde’s dad were a thing. After Stan’s sister had moved out they’d moved in together. So sometimes when Craig dropped by the Donovan household he’d see Stan douching around on the Xbox or whatever else he did when he wasn’t attached at the dick with Kyle Broflovski or making out with Wendy Testaburger.

 

“You wanna come over and ‘watch a movie’?” Clyde winked, using literal air quotes. Subtilty wasn’t exactly one of his better traits.

 

Craig shrugged. “I’ll think about it.” He picked up his tray, pizza unfinished, and started to get up. Predictably, Clyde grabbed his arm.

 

“C’mon, I’ll do that thing.” He said in a hushed tone, turning red. “That thing you like…”

 

So predictable. And predictable equals boring, just the way Craig liked to keep things.  
  


“Don’t forget you’re the one who offered, dipshit.”

 

On the way to class, Craig saw Cartman pull down Wendy’s skirt and subsequently have his jaw broken. He couldn’t get his locker to open, and he had to watch Mrs. Finkle use every opportunity to hang her wrinkly old tits in Kenny’s face all last period. Still, he couldn’t help thinking it’d been a pretty good day.

 

 


	2. Busstop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the idea to write this for a few years, so I'm glad it's finally done. 
> 
> **Warnings:** character "death", involuntary groping, manboobs

It’s no secret that Kenny McCormick loves boobs.

 

Big ones, small ones (though big ones would always hold a special place in his heart), perky, low-hangers, big nipples, little nipples, all colors! No discrimination. But there is one set of tits he’d never, even in his wildest, most erotic dreams, imagined himself pining over.

 

Kyle is home sick, which, of course, means Stan isn’t here either. So it’s just him and Cartman at their usual bus stop. Cartman is chatting loudly on his iPhone about something or other, but Kenny’s too busy ogling his bodacious man breasts to even be assed with paying attention.

 

It’s the peak of Colorado’s near eternal winter, below freezing, and Cartman is wearing a fairly thin jacket. Now that Kenny thinks about it, he hasn’t seen him wear a coat in years. Maybe it makes him feel manly to withstand the cold. Or maybe he's too self-conscious about his fat to wear something that makes him look even thicker.. Regardless, Kenny is getting a good eyeful of hard nips.

 

His hands twitch. He definitely _needs_ to touch them. He isn’t even sure anymore when this fetish first grabbed hold of him, but lately it’s all he’s able to think about.

 

And what’s stopping him?

 

Generally, Kenny is a stand up guy. He’s careful to grope only with the express consent of his gropee. He hadn’t even copped a feel of more than Bebe’s hair when she’d dragged him drunkenly into a bathroom at Clyde Donovan's new years party last January, and she has the biggest tits in their graduating class. Of course, it’s hard to get into a mood when the girl is puking her guts out.

 

Something about Cartman makes him completely unsympathetic. Probably because he is an insufferable, selfish sociopath.

 

“ ‘Ey! You better not be thinking about stealing my wallet, Kinny, you poor asshole.” He hadn’t even noticed himself creeping closer.

 

“What would you do to stop me?” Kenny challenges.

 

“I’d kick your fucking ass, that’s what!” Cartman threatens, though it isn’t very convincing when he’s backing away from him. Kenny takes one step towards him, and Cartman steps back in response. “Come at me, bro. Try it; see what happens!”

 

He reminds Kenny distinctly of a frightened cat, hissing and arching its back to seem tougher.

 

The blond shrugs. “You asked for it.” He grabs Cartman’s chubby bicep, catching him off guard, so his cell phone drops into the snow, as he pulls him so his back is pressed to Kenny’s front. Cartman struggles against him, trying to kick him in the shins or elbow him, and he wraps his arms around to trap Cartman, and in the process, get a handful of manboob.

  
  


They fit perfectly in the palms of his hands. Soft, like little palm pillows, even. He squeezes.

 

Very suddenly, all the fight goes out of Cartman, and then starts up again with renewed vigor. “What the fuck? Dude, I’m seriously! The fuck?”

 

Kenny laughs, the whole situation is pretty ridiculous, even for them. He squeezes, massages, pinches - and Cartman’s ears and face burn in response. It’s weirdly hot, and also absurdly funny.

 

He should have known better than to let his guard down. Cartman finally manages to get a good shot in, elbow digging into his stomach and forcing the air from him. Kenny stumbles. If his muscles weren’t already loose with laughter, he might have caught his balance and retaliated.

 

Instead, Cartman shoves him off the sidewalk at just the moment the bus comes by, rolling in twenty miles over the speed limit, and screeching to a halt. But not before the front tire crushes Kenny’s skull into a million pieces, splattering brain matter all over the road.

 

“Told you not to fuck with me.” Cartman snickers as he picks his phone out of the snow and gets on the bus, traipsing blood in on the soles of his shoes.

 

It’s 7:35 AM, and so far it’s an average day in South Park.

 

 


	3. Chapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit more depressing than the first two. It was originally meant to be a flashback as part of a larger story that was ultimately going to be Stan/Kyle, but that project will most likely be scrapped. However, I didn't totally hate this bit, and am even interested in writing my drabbles relating to this one :) should be fun.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Depression, anal sex, recreational use of marijuana, suicidal thought, self-worth issues

Stan was getting a bad case of cottonmouth. He licked his lips and groped around on the floor for the Sunkist he knew he’d left somewhere down there. Instead, he just knocked over the bottle, and it rolled away, making a half circle before stopping in the middle of the floor. He stared longingly at it.

 

Craig walked in a moment later, which was an interesting sight, since Stan had been so sure only a second ago that Craig was still lying right beside him. His hair was damp, and he had a towel wrapped around his waist.

 

Craig looked at Stan, and then followed his gaze. He rolled his eyes, then grabbed the bottle and placed it in Stan’s outstretched hand. He was so grateful, he thought maybe he should offer to suck Craig’s dick again. But right now he needed to suck on the Sunkist.

 

He sat up slowly, which was funny for some reason, then took a sip of the soda. Which was flat. Gross.

 

Stan stuck his tongue out, and Craig took it as an invitation to kiss him. _Orange and mint_ really _don’t mix_. He thought, but he needed Craig’s saliva, since he wasn’t making enough of his own.

 

Craig pulled away, and Stan frowned.

 

“ ‘the Hell?”

 

“Your lips are chapped.” Craig said, squeezing his face with one hand, and smearing chapstick on his forcefully puckered lips with the other. It made his lips tingle. “Don’t lick it off this is expensive.”

 

Stan laughed, and Craig shook his head at him, letting go of his face. He sat on the edge of the bed and replaced his tube of chapstick with the pipe sitting on his bedside table. It was shaped like a little elephant, and it looked like Craig was kissing it’s trunk when he brought it to his lips to take a hit. He liked to use a candle lighter, since he always burnt his fingers with the regular kind, and he couldn’t light matches well. Which Stan found hilarious.

 

Craig stuck his head out the window when he exhaled. He made Stan do the same, though he never did when Craig wasn’t in the room.

 

“Fuckin’ cold.” He muttered when he ducked back in the room, shutting the window after him, which was how Stan knew they wouldn’t be smoking anymore that night. Which was fine, totally fine. This was enough.

 

“Want me to warm you up?” Stan asked, opening his arms and raising his brow in what he hoped was a provocative manner. It felt like his whole body was vibrating in slow motion. He kind of just wanted to ask him to lay very still on top of him.

 

Craig crawled over him and went straight for his throat. Stan thought he probably didn’t want to rub off his chapstick. His neck was a sensitive spot, teeth and breath sinking hotly into him. He wrapped his arms around Craig encouragingly. He pet his back until he found a knot with his fingers. He dug into it, rubbing it out while Craig nipped at his jaw.

 

Craig grabbed the back of his knees, and pushed them up towards his chest. “Hold.”

 

Stan followed instruction, replacing Craig’s hands with his own, so he had a complete view of Stan’s ass and balls. Craig threw aside the towel Stan hadn’t notice him still wearing, and slicked his fingers with lube from the bedside drawer. They’d done this earlier, but Craig always stuck fingers in him before and sometimes after they did this.

 

Fingertips traced his hole, slicking the outside before dipping in, like testing the waters of a pool. He’d used it a million times; what did he think would be different? Stan didn’t care. He was floating on his high, and couldn’t bring himself to concentrate or care about much of anything.

 

His body rolled in waves, matching the pace of Craig’s hand. When he entered him, Stan keened. Craig was holding his legs again. Stan must have gotten lazy about it, his arms splayed at his sides. Craig must have felt the waves too, because his thrusts came slowly. Stan wouldn’t mind falling asleep like this, but he didn’t think Craig would appreciate it.

Stan had no clue how long it went on. It felt as though the tide had picked up everything around him, everything caught in his sluggish haze. He startled when Craig’s pace stuttered, and he came inside him. Everything throbbed like a wound, but instead of feeling pain, it felt good. Very good. And when Craig thumbed at the head of his dick he came, air exploding into his lungs. It was like had really been under water, and he could finally breath again.

 

“Did you feel the ocean?” Stan hummed as Craig pulled out of him.

 

Craig leaned over him again suddenly, and bit his cheek.

 

“Ow! Craig, what the fuck, you prick!” It wasn’t even cute; it legitimately hurt.

 

“If you get too fucking high and start saying stupid shit I’m going to retaliate.” Craig rolled over, facing away from Stan.

 

“You never look at me.” Stan grumbled. “I’m not gonna blind you with me hotness.” He joked. Craig never looked at him after, and Stan hadn’t noticed until recently he wasn’t looking at him during either. Sometimes through him, or next to him, but never right at him.

 

“I don’t like black hair.”

 

Stan laughed, caught off guard. “ _You_ have black hair.”

 

“Very observant.” Craig snorted.

 

Stan was genuinely surprised. Craig had to be in the top three most vain people Stan had ever met. He was meticulously kept, and had the general aura of someone brimming with confidence. He certainly wasn’t afraid to let people know when he thought he was better than them, which was often enough.

 

The thought had occurred to Stan that Craig kept him around because of like appearances. Although, now that Stan thought of it, they didn’t look much alike aside from hair color and relative height, though Stan was a bit taller, and just bigger in general. Craig was lanky, but what he lacked in muscle mass he made up for with his presence. He had sharp, dark eyes, a thin nose, and a mouth set into a permanent line of indifference. Stan wished he could capture even half of his cool self-certainty through osmosis or something.

 

Stan didn’t blame him. Black hair wasn’t really his type either, not since Wendy. He closed his eyes and pictured big red curls, then groaned, turning over so they were back to back. He needed a drink, or something strong.

 

“So, what’s your type then?” Stan asked, irritably.

 

Craig was silent for such a long time, he was almost convinced he’d fallen asleep.

 

“Blondes. Idiots who can’t take care of themselves.” He stated, though his voice was low. “At least you fit into one of those categories.”

 

Stan bit his cheek, suddenly wishing he’d never said anything. It was obvious who Craig was talking about. Craig had been closer to Tweek than ever in middle school. And when the twitchy blonde died suddenly during their freshman year (of an aneurysm or something, Stan wasn’t sure) Craig had taken it harder than anyone. Stan wondered if they ever got around to fixing the dents Craig had kicked into the lockers, or if they just kept ignoring it like most things that went wrong in South Park.

 

Stan had lost his best friend because he’d done everything wrong, and he didn’t deserve him. Sure, Craig was kind of an asshole, but he hadn’t done anything so wrong to lose Tweek. Now he was stuck with Stan, a.k.a useless piece of shit who couldn’t hold down a job at fucking J-mart.

 

His high was quickly wearing off. He wanted something to take off the persistent edge of reality. Of course it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

 

He fell asleep counting the beats of his own heart, silently hoping it might stop, and trying to block out the memories of disappointed eyes and unruly locks of auburn hair.

 

 


End file.
